


'Cause I'm Slow Like Honey

by cerie



Series: Slow Like Honey [1]
Category: The Newsroom (US TV)
Genre: F/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 09:12:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerie/pseuds/cerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will has no fucking idea to do with her but for now, he’s going to drink his coffee, smoke his cigarette, and let his eyes linger a little longer as she walks out the door.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Cause I'm Slow Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> Set after The Newsroom 2x02 "The Genoa Tip" but there's only mild spoilers for the episode.

_Isn’t it enough that they love you? They’d walk through a fire for you._

Will sits alone with scotch and cigarettes. The others have mostly cleared out and he makes it a rule not to drink with the staff - it’s like your mother sitting in on a date and it’s just fucking rude. He’s written a script for tomorrow demanding accountability and transparency from the administration on how they’ve handled counterterrorism and he feels good about it even if he can’t quell the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach that the audience will hate it. What he does, he does it for them.

He wishes he could be idealistic like MacKenzie miraculously is, a big believer in the power of truth over lies and justice for all. He isn’t. He wants to be right, sure, but he’s willing to compromise his personal morals for popularity. The ratings, a useful tool for corporate bean counters and advertisers, have become both the boon and bane of his existence. He lives to see them skyrocket, he drinks himself into another ulcer when they plummet.

They’re fickle, his audience, but like a difficult woman, Will is all about the chase. He’s all about seducing them back, promising to do better and then when MacKenzie gets under his skin, he does things that drives them away again. A sane man would realize that it’s better to do something he’s proud of rather than do drivel to keep the same morons watching that watch Jersey Shore but he’s not sane. Not when it comes to this.

He takes a cab home and drinks some more, sticking with scotch, and he’s a third into a bottle of Macallan’s single malt when he falls back on old habits and dials MacKenzie. Her voice is sleepy and confused and a quick glance at his watch shows it’s 1:45 AM - she’s probably only just gotten in bed, knowing her.

“Is something wrong, Will?” He doesn’t answer for a moment and when he does, his words are carefully measured and poured neat; he’s still sober enough to care about not sounding drunk but is rapidly going downhill. “No. I just wanted to hear your voice.” If MacKenzie thinks it’s strange, she doesn’t comment. Will carries the scotch and the phone back to his bedroom and thinks maybe if he goes to sleep with the phone next to his ear, it’s like having MacKenzie.

“You looked fucking fantastic earlier,” he drawls, grinning when he remembers how she’d looked in that trim leather jacket. He’s never seen MacKenzie wear anything like that before. MacKenzie’s clothes all tend to be business dress with pencil skirts and loose, silky blouses that are classy and elegant and not in your face sexy. She wears them all the time, even on her downtime, and the leather jacket must be a new purchase; he’ll have more as this story develops. 

“Did I? Well, thank you.” MacKenzie sounds confused and Will wonders why. She has to know she’s gorgeous and everyone else had complimented the jacket earlier. He’d just waited because paying MacKenzie compliments isn’t exactly the easiest thing in the world for him anymore and he needs a little liquid courage before the words come out. “Yeah. You looked like a real ball-buster,” he goes on, wanting to fluster her a little. MacKenzie has been so calm lately, poised and on point, and he wants to make her squirm. Maybe it’s a little twisted but she puts him in the hot seat just by existing and he wants to repay the favor.

“Shoulda worn it with jeans, though. I always loved you in jeans. You’ve got a perfect ass, MacKenzie, and it just looks like the denim’s painted on. Sometimes you’d wear jeans and lean over a little to pick something up and there’s this little patch of skin where your shirt rode up? You know how much I always just wanted to lick that? Jesus. There’s a lot of things I want to do to you, actually. It’s a damn shame.”

MacKenzie is quiet for several seconds and Will has an apology on his lips ready to go; he’s drunk and inhibitions are lowered but that’s no excuse to be an asshole and he’s afraid that this...whatever the fuck it is...isn’t wanted attention. “You...you should tell me about that, Billy. About the things you want to do with me.”

Will hears a little movement, what he imagines is the slide of fabric on bare skin, and he wonders what she’s wearing. MacKenzie used to always wear tank tops and yoga pants to bed (if she wasn’t in his shirt or nothing at all) and he figures that continued after they broke up. Old habits. But now he’s imagining her naked, pert breasts and slender waist and long legs that he just wants wrapped around him. It’s hard to focus on talking when he’s thinking about _that_. 

“Yeah? Well. If you’d let me, I’d bring you home. I’d get you up on the counter and I’d peel those jeans off, nice and slow, run my hands all over your legs. God, I love those legs of yours. I’ve always been a leg man, of course, but nobody holds a candle to yours. You’re so small, MacKenzie. I love how those legs can wrap around me and I can cup your ass with my hands and it fits perfectly. Once I got those jeans off, I’d tease you. I’d kneel down and kiss your thighs and mark up all that creamy skin of yours. I’d want you to know you were still mine in a couple days, so I’d leave evidence. Do you still wear those lacy panties?”

MacKenzie hasn’t said anything in a while and she makes a startled sound. When she does speak, her voice is a little low and breathless. “I...yeah. Blue ones. I’m wearing blue ones.” This has gotten exponentially more interesting now because Will hadn’t actually asked what she was wearing _right now_. “Well. I’d slide my fingers up against the front of them, get them nice and damp, then I’d get my mouth down there. It’d suck for a little while, bad knees, but there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I’d kiss you. Slide my tongue all over you but never, ever go under those panties, because I just want you to beg for it. You’d slide your hand into my hair and try to push my head down and I’d stop because I want it on my terms. I want to drive you insane and when you beg me, well. I’d slide those panties off and my mouth would be there. I ever tell you that my favorite thing in the world is going down on you? Yeah. It is. I’d make it so soft and sweet, make you come over and over and over again. Then I’d get you off the counter because when I fuck you, I want you in my bed. Is that where you’d want it, MacKenzie?”

“Ye...yeah, it’s where I’d want it.” Her voice is so faraway and distracted that Will realizes maybe he’s not the only one enjoying this. He laughs, warm and low. “MacKenzie? Where’s your hand right now?”

He’s expecting her to get upset and to tell him that he’s crossed a line. Will pours a little more scotch and drinks it neat, damn near coughing it up when she whimpers and says she’s got her hand right where he wishes his face was right now. _Fuck_. Okay. He can go with this. He slides his boxers down and puts the phone on speaker; better to be hands-free for this kind of shit.

“Okay. Cup your breast too. Play with yourself and I’ll keep telling this story.” He wraps his hand around his cock and strokes lazily. God, it feels good. At least with MacKenzie on the phone, it doesn’t seem like such a solo activity. “You’d be under me the first time. I know you love being on top and I love you there but the first time, I want to cover you. You’d be so hot and wet up against my cock and Christ, you make the prettiest little noises. How wet are you right now, by the way? Ballpark estimate?”

It takes MacKenzie a moment and her voice is laced through with undeniable arousal when she speaks. Will can picture it: flushed cheeks, rosy nipples, hand moving busily between spread legs. He’s seen MacKenzie do this before in person and it’s not hard to conjure up a mental image for his own purposes. He moves his hand a little faster.

“Pretty wet, Will. Jesus _fuck_ , Billy, tell me more?” He laughs and describes in lurid detail how he’d keep fucking her, how he’d roll them so she was on top and how he’d dig his fingers into her thighs when he came. He’s a possessive and jealous fucker, he knows that, and he thinks it’s only gotten worse since the Thing That Happened.

He hears MacKenzie’s voice catch and he coaxes her through the orgasm, murmuring nonsense while his own hand never stops. It’s easier for him than her, after all, and when he comes it’s lazy and almost an afterthought. Somehow, weirdly, this got twisted and became about MacKenzie instead of himself. 

“Night, Billy,” she murmurs, disconnecting the phone. Will does a half-ass job of cleaning himself up and rolls over to sleep, hazy and satisfied.

***

When he gets in the next morning, he has a splitting headache and a burning desire to drink an entire Starbucks worth of coffee and smoke the entire fucking supply of cigarettes in NYC, or at least Manhattan. He finds a cigarette in his desk and lights it, smoking it while he reads the paper, and he doesn’t notice MacKenzie’s come in until she plops something down on his desk: venti cappuccino with double espresso.

“Thanks,” he says curtly, drinking about a third of it before he says anything else. He’s almost always a better human being when coffee’s involved. When he finally looks up, he realizes that MacKenzie looks almost...giddy. They talk about work for a few minutes when she nods at his coffee cup and he looks to see what’s written on the side.

“This is for being a fucking fantastic lay, even if you’re not in the room. Keep calling me and I’ll wear the jeans - MM.”

He looks up, wondering what the fuck they’re doing, and MacKenzie leans in close across his desk. “We should make it a thing. Next time, though, I’d kind of like to be in the same room.”

Will has no fucking idea to do with that but for now, he’s going to drink his coffee, smoke his cigarette, and let his eyes linger a little longer as she walks out the door.


End file.
